The book has now made its purposes known. His purposes, I should say. He has offered me my own soul and I have taken his deal. I have been trapped by him for nearly three years of my life now. It would have been three years in twelve days of this writing. The worst part of this infernal bargain is that I knew it to be foul from the first day and since then I knew that I could not escape this fate.
Posts Tagged ‘campaign journal’
The true power of the crystals lies not in what wonders they can perform but in what atrocities they can compel a person to do. They are a tempting power. They make one desire to do things which one never thought to desire before. When I first fled from the temple in Mercan over two years ago, I had sworn solemnly two things. I would let nothing stop me in my pursuit of the true knowledge of the book I carried and that I would never tolerate those of the kind who had destroyed my father. I owed his memory that much, I thought. I had never assumed that I would thrust myself into a situation where I would need to compromise one of those principles for the other. Had I, I am certain that I would never have believed that I would compromise the latter for the sake of the former.
After my time with Den in Doomsbridge had come to a close, I returned to the nation of Spaartha. I had some business in the libraries at Salynndra. My friends had been summoned to the city on other business and they tell me that they had something of an experience there. I have arrived now in Eregant, and ancient island city with a history both rich and dark. The city seems to suit me quite well. Before I chartered my ship to this island, I had spent some time with the druids in Mastillan.
My entry this day will by necessity be brief. I have joined one of my companions and what can only be described as a horde of refugees into Ehrenland. I had heard much of this place – thought not much recently – and had long looked forward to visiting. I had, some time ago, learned their curious alphabet and their dialect. There is much to say in regards to this place and its interesting people but much of that can be found in other texts so I shall not waste ink here. I feel compelled to relate the events that preceded my arrival in Doomsbridge.
It never ceases to amaze me that I have been selected as some sort of hero. Almost as if I was chosen by the gods for this purpose. I rest now in the incredible city of Arcada. Never have a seen a city more dedicated to the gods, and thus to their beliefs and writings, in all of the Kingdoms. Equally as fascinating is Leonardo’s and the Vodan Steel Works. Though smithing was my father’s profession, the shaping of useless raw materials into a finely honed edge or a bulwark of defense interests me. But I have not set down here to write a companion’s guide to the city. I have taken myself from my studies and my wonder to relate the events following the summer of 194.
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As I sit in the grey dungeon that has become my home over the past several weeks, I have come to two conclusions. The first is that this power that I have fated upon is dark and treacherous and it has no business being in the hands of any mortal. This is the very power of the gods, unrestrained. I have stared into the face of the divine and walked away with its glow and its stench. I am unfit to know such things, to be who I am.
Again, it seems that too much time has passed since I have found the opportunity to again set upon my journal. It has been weeks since I have had a place of refuge. I have taken up temporary residence in Newholm with two of those whom I had gone adventuring. Before I tell you of my time here, I should tell of the events that transpired to bring me from Queen’s Landing to here.
It seems like it has been ages since I have been able to return to my books. I was loath to abandon them, but it seems that I was not fashioned for the life of an adventurer. I have found for myself a temporary respite in this subterranean library. It feels more comfortable than anything I have known since fleeing to Firforge.
I’ve started this journal for the very likely event that something goes horribly wrong. I’ve discovered something that I shouldn’t have. Before I catalog that, however, I should probably tell you, reader, who I am. I am currently known as Mauril Everleaf, scribe of Mishya. I moved to Firforge nearly ten years ago and have considered it my home since my youth.